Gail: Devoid of Grace
by X-Kaegolis-R
Summary: Walter finds a girl on the street; a mere child. Through a series of short but complicated events, he ends up letting her live with him. Begins in the winter of 1972 and spans through to 1985. 1st two chapters are short. First fic ever! flames accepted
1. Chapter 1

Walter walked slowly, trench coat wrapped tightly about him, staring up at the black sky as snowflakes drifted downward and crowded the streets. He watched couples pass merrily hand in hand, stopping under streetlights, the steam from their breath rising and entwining as their lips met. He looked at them with cold indifference; but still he looked. The silhouette of a man and woman haunted a nearby doorway; they were kissing, pressed against the frame, hands roaming. Walter quickly averted his eyes. Two blocks further and he would be home, though he found little comfort in the idea. The landlady was home and the rent was due. He expected a large argument to initiate the moment he stepped through the door.

He saw a pimp, clad in a purple pinstriped suit and feathered hat, standing at the corner waiting for the light to change and the onslaught of cars to stop. The pimp pulled out a cigarette and lit it, his eyes fixed on the stoplight. He saw Walter staring and pulled the brim of his hat over his eyes.

Two or three cars passed and the light changed, but the pimp did not move; he was still watching Walter. Finally he seemed to decide on what to do; he turned the corner sharply, nearly jogging down the snow-covered street, holding the brim of his hat over his face with his hand.

Walter watched him in mild confusion; he wasn't Rorschach, so why did he run? He dismissed the thought easily and continued on his way. Three doors down from his building he saw the cause of the pimps apparent distress; a prostitute, dressed in mini-shorts, fishnet stockings, stilettos and a bloody blue two-toned jacket, lay face-down in the three-inch deep snow, a halo of blood around her head. He stared at her for a moment, feeling no pity or grief. "Better off dead."

He turned away, and just as he neared his building he heard a loud, distinct groan from behind him.

He was tempted to just ignore it, but then he thought of Kitty Genovese. He refused to be included in that percentage that watched as the innocent were exterminated and the guilty raped and ravaged as they pleased. He refused to be human backwash.

He turned slowly to find the prostitute just as still as she had ever been, except for the twitching of the fingers of her left hand.

He made his way back to her and knelt, turning her over on her back and grimaced internally.

The prostitute was a young black girl; she couldn't have possibly been over 13. Her hair was short and black; loose locks fell gently onto her brown face. Her long black lashes rested gently on her swollen, purple cheeks, her split brow creaseless, and he would have assumed her dead once again if not for the soft puffs of congealed air that rose from her blue and bloody lips. Frozen blood caked under her nose and at her temple and her body was stiff with cold.

Knowing the nearest hospital to be at least 30 minutes away by foot he lifted her over his shoulder and started toward his building for the third time that night.


	2. Chapter 2

His landlady greeted him promptly the moment he stepped through the door, "Kovacs." She had her upper body leaning out of her apartment door, her hands placed firmly on her hips; she was scowling.

"Mrs. Shairp, good to see you." He turned his upper body to look at her, one foot planted steadfastly on the first stair.

"Rent is due today, Kovacs."

"Was unaware. Have money soon." He turned and started up the stairs.

"I want my money now Kovacs or you're out on your ass!" An empty threat and they both knew it. She needed all the tenants she could get.

She suddenly seemed to realize he wasn't alone, "Kovacs…is that…?"

"She's hurt, keeping her out of the snow." He turned once again to face his landlady, "Not what it looks like."

"Is she dead?"

There was a flash of annoyance on Walter's face before the cold mask resumed, "Hurt. Not dead." He wouldn't have bothered if she was dead.

The girl's eyes were glazed over and half lidded, focused almost absorbedly on his face as he carried her back down the stairs to Ms. Shairp. "Need to use your phone and blankets."

"Holy hell Kovacs you know what …" Her voice died as the girls head lolled toward her, "oh my god," she knelt to look at the girl's bruised face, "where did you find her?"

"Down the street." His icy stare shifted from Mrs. Shairp to the child in his arms.

Mrs. Shairp stood, her eyes still fixed on the girl, "Poor baby. Bring her in Kovacs." She left the doorway in search of blankets.

Walter didn't move. He felt his arms and legs go numb. The very idea of being in a woman's home was revolting in the least…but to be in Ms. Shairp's home… it would be like going through a time warp. Back to times he never wanted to remember.

"Kovacs! Bring her in and get her out of those wet clothes!"

His breathing became shallow and there was a pounding in his forehead. No amount of self-satisfaction was worth this. This was not justice…not protecting the innocent, this was torture.

He was torn between his need to protect the child and ensure that she was properly cared for, and his need to retain his sanity.

He put the girl down at the doorway and made his way up the stairs to his apartment.


	3. Chapter 3

Walking down 42nd two weeks after watching the doors of a battered Volkswagen ambulance close with the child prostitute safely inside, Walter found himself being chased down by a prostitute, this time in broad daylight. It was a fault of his appearance; his ragged, unshaven face and dark clothing usually made women think one of two things: the respectable ones thought he was a filthy psychopath and avoided him like the plague, and the whores thought he was a lonely man in need of physical...release and chased him down like starving rats to a fresh corpse.

He didn't turn to acknowledge the voice; keeping his eyes straight ahead and his hands tucked deep in the pockets of his trench coat. He heard the rapid clacking of heels behind him "Hey! You! I know you! Ginger!"

As the clacking got closer he turned his head a little toward his shoulder to watch the woman from his periphery. She was short, even in her stiletto boots, with a head of long blonde hair that swung behind her as she ran.

"Mister!" Her voice was high pitched and labored; she'd been running fast, "C'mon mister I ran from all the way down the block," she paused to drag in a ragged breath, "least you could do is slow the fuck down!"

He grunted scathingly and quickened his pace, behind him the clacking ceased.

"Do nothing for filthy whores."

He heard her scoff and the clacking began again. "Mister, that hurt, really it did. C'mon, I'm in heels…it's hard enough to just walk, less run." The clacking became more rapid, "For fucks sake ginger I'm not gonna ask you to fuck me!"

He paused and turned to look at her, his icy glare stopped her in her tracks. She smiled at him, "Knew it was you."

It took a while before realization washed over him. The girl. She looked slightly different; her face was no longer swollen and purple and she was wearing a blonde wig, but he noticed the stitches in her left eyebrow and the two teeth missing from her smile.

"I never got your name, mister."

"Wasn't aware I was supposed to give it." Was he…was he _conversing_ with her?

"My name's Gail, Gail Cortez, my friends call me Leli."

"Good to know." He turned and started on his way again.

"Y'know, it's common courtesy when somebody tells you their name for you to tell 'em yours."

"Never been much of a conformist. Common does not suit me."

She laughed. "Me neither. Guess we got that much in _common_, huh?" She was following him.

"So mister, you work around here?"

Perhaps if he didn't answer she would just get bored and go away.

"Business ain't too good around here in the mornings. Everybody's a law-abidin' citizen durin' the day. But I like it better, pimps don't show up around this time."

Silence.

"Y'know mister, I could tell you got a problem with women. I seen you a couple of times when I used to hang around here with Nena and Coco. You get all red in the face and scrunch your head into your shoulders like your tryin'a disappear." She grinned, "Most guys like the attention."

Silence obviously was not going to work. "How old are you?"

His plan seemed to work for a moment; she stopped walking and her smile disappeared. "I'm fourteen. Be fifteen next year in May."

Fourteen. No wonder she didn't make him sick to his stomach in quite the same way the other whores did. Then again he had always been very aware that she was very young.

He found himself wondering exactly what kind of circumstance may have forced her into prostitution at such a young age. With every scenario he tried and every familial back story he could possibly apply his conclusion was the same: her parents sold her.

"But it ain't no big deal, y'know? I make better money than most girls five years older than me." She was following him again.

"Disgusting."

"Ain't it?"

He didn't have the energy or the mind to hit her; she wasn't really bothering him as much as he had hoped she would, and at least she wasn't trying to market herself to him. Or at least it didn't seem that way. She was a child, and she was doing what children did; she was rambling and trying to make friends.

"What you work as, mister?"

"Tailor."

"Don't seem to fit you."

"It doesn't." He was much better as Rorschach. As Rorschach he would have snapped her neck. Maybe he could still do it and save her from a life of substance abuse and crime. He turned to look at her but found that she had turned and started off in the other direction. What surprised him was that he hadn't heard her.

He turned back and saw why she'd decided to end their conversation.

Clad in the same purple pinstripe suit and feathered hat, cigar held loosely between his fingers with his cane pressed gently against his hip, was the pimp from the snowy night. His hazel eyes were fixed on Walter as he contemplated his next action.

The pimp smirked and slid a pair of sunglasses over his eyes; he twirled his cane, took a puff from his cigar and tipped his hat. "Mornin' sir."

He started after Gail slowly, accentuating his swagger as he passed Walter. "Leli, baby where you goin'? Jojo just wants to talk to ya." He looked back at Walter and grinned, his two gold teeth glinting, "Glad to see your doin' good sir."

Walter stared at the man, his face passive. He took that opportunity to memorize every line and curve of the man's face; from his wide flat nose to his clean-shaven square jaw. Every part of this man's physical being was memorized.

And now he had a name.

Jojo.


	4. Chapter 4

Following Jojo had been less than a challenge for Rorschach. In fact, he had been able to predict most of Jojo's daily routine and take a short break to tie up a bank robber and rapist in between. Now, at exactly 12:45 pm on 125th and Lenox, Jojo was finally returning home after a long day of money collecting and hoe slapping. And Rorschach was there to greet him.

Rorschach caught him just as he was stepping through the door of his maisonette and approaching the stairs, grabbing the back of his collar and pulling him sharply back, the man turned sharply to face him and then stopped cold. Jojo's eyes widened as he registered the featureless face in front of him. "Oh god! Rorschach!"

"Want a word with you." The deep monotonous voice sent a shiver down his spine.

"Sure, sure buddy, I'm an open book."

"Recently you lost touch with one of your whores, goes by the name of Gail."

"Sorry, don't know 'er."

"Hurm..." Rorschach grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back, pulling sharply until he heard a loud _pop_, "Try again. Next time I break it."

"I don't got no bitches named Gail!"

Rorschach began to put more pressure on the elbow joint, Jojo's knees buckled and he fell, "Short, black, last name Cortez, age 14."

"Oh, Leli! Yeah, dumb bitch tried to run out on me, said she was goin' ta finish school or some dumb shit like that. Workin' on getting her back though..."

"Through violent means?"

Jojo tried to size Rorschach up through his peripheral vision, Rorschach put more pressure on the joint, "Answer quickly."

"Augh! Yeah man, maybe...I mean no! No! No I never use violence to-"

"All I needed to know." He let go of Jojo's arm and watched the man scramble to his feet, holding his limp arm, "Be watching. Approach the child again..."

There was a flash of motion and suddenly Rorschach had Jojo's good hand held firmly in one of his own with Jojo's fingers pressed back toward his wrist. Before Jojo could pull away Rorschach had broken all of the fingers of that hand.

There was a bloodcurdling scream as the pain ran through Jojo's arm and down his spine to his feet. Rorschach watched the man fall to his knees, cradling his broken hand and suppressed the urge to sigh. No strength against pain. Not that he'd expected any.

Rorschach turned on his heel and disappeared through the darkness, the sound of Jojo's screams mingling with the whirr of a police siren, and eventually drowned out by the sounds of the city.

_______________________________________________

"Hey Gingy. Long time no see."

Walter lifted his eyes to the nearest fire escape to find Leli hanging by her feet from between the bars. Her face was swollen and bruised, her nose had a bandage over it and she had a black eye. Somebody had it in for this kid.

"It's been three days."

"Yeah? Time flies when you're on the run."

This peaked Walter's interest, "From who?"

Leli smiled wryly and swung herself upright with her back facing him, "Two days ago that vigilante dude...whatshisname..." she turned and looked at him, "the guy without a face..."

"Rorschach?" he had to correct himself to make it sound like a question.

"Yeah that. Well, he paid my old pimp Jojo a visit, broke all his fingers and dislocated his shoulder. Jojo's been sendin' people after me ever since. Just recently escaped a bat-wieldin' Dominican." She took some snow off a railing and pressed it to her black eye.

"Thinks you tipped off Rorschach?"

"Hells yeah. I just hope Rorschach leaves him alone so I don't end up gettin' killed."

Walter watched a freshly fallen snow flake land on his shoe and dissolve into water, "Be going now."

"Yeah, have a good one Gingy."

Walter grunted in response and continued on his way to work.

_________

There was a large commotion on 42nd that night when Walter came out of the train station; somebody had been shot and killed.

Automatically Walter assumed that it was Gail. He did not feel any remorse at the thought. In fact he felt as if a heavy weight had been taken off his shoulders. There was now one less morsel to feed the starving filth that infested his city.

An hour later Walter was walking home disappointed; the person shot was a thirty-two year old man, the murderer was speculated to have been a whore he cheated.

________

As he trudged through sleet and snow only blocks away from his house Walter had a tingling sensation in the back of his neck, the kind he usually got when somebody was watching him or getting ready to hit him.

He ducked.

There was the sound of rushing air and a soft "oof" as somebody hit the ground beside him. Walter stood quickly and grabbed his assailant by the back of his collar; lifting him and slamming him face-first into a street lamp. He let the man fall before grabbing him by his long curly hair and pulling his head back to look at him.

He was a kid, 19 at the most with a long thin scar that ran from his chin across his nose and eye to his forehead. He was Hispanic, maybe Puerto Rican or Dominican, and still clutched in his left hand was a baseball bat. Titanium.

"Lemme go man! I'n done nothin'!"

"Assault with a deadly weapon. Very bad."

"I'n hit you, it wa'n no goddamn assault!"

"Why are you here?"

"What? Can't a man walk in him own neighborhood without a problem?"

"What street are we on?"

The boy looked at him as if he were a strange deformed animal, "What?"

"If this is your neighborhood then you should know the streets. What street are we on?"

"Motherfucker I don't watch the goddamn signs-!"

"Wrong answer." He slammed the boys head into the street lamp again. When he pulled the boys head back blood was pouring from his broken nose and split eyebrow.

"Fucking psycho!"

He was right; Walter was acting too much like Rorschach. He had to calm down.

"Why did you attack me?"

"I'n do-OKAY!" He yelled his surrender when he saw the streetlamp getting closer, "My boss...local pimp, him got this policy; bitches don't get fired and bitches don't quit. Him got this young girl, makes most of his money for him, without her him goes broke. Fellas pay big bucks to spend a night with her. She's like fourteen I think. Fellas know, they don't care."

"What's this got to do with me?"

"Him said you saw when she tried to leave him the first time. Him said you saw his face and saved her. Him said either kill you or knock you out and take you back to base."

"What's he gonna do with the kid?"

"Kill her. Least that's what him said."

Walter let the boy go and stood back as he began to press snow to his broken nose. "Where is base?"

"Warehouse district, Brooklyn. Butler and third"

Walter regarded the boy for a moment. "You should run now before I change my mind."

The boy froze and looked up at him. "Wha-?"

He changed his mind.

Walter's fist made contact with the boys' skull before he even had time to register the movement; he fell backward, eyelids fluttering and was out before he hit the cold snow-dusted pavement.

Walter turned and jogged back toward the train station.

As supportive as he had been previously to the child's death, the idea of her being held captive, of her being abused and frightened before she died made him sick to his stomach.

Personal reasons.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I had forgotten that Rorschach didn't start killing people until 1975, three years after the story begins, but it all worked out :P

Does anyone know what that last line is a reference to? :D

Stay tuned for the next chapter.


	5. Chapter 5

Sorry it took so long. i get bored with things really easily plus i got so much crap 2 do.

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Walter hadn't given much (if any) thought to how he was going to find the place Gail was being held. He could easily break into every lock, but that might take a while and by the time he was done with that she could already be dead.

He was lucky when he heard yelling from somewhere further down the street toward Fourth Ave; there was a truck parked in front of one of the garages, which was open just enough to emit a tiny sliver of light.

Careful to keep his head just out of the way of the light, Walter stooped by the door and peered in through the crack.

There were five men standing around a black Cadillac; two were armed with bats, three with crowbars. There were three more men on the opposite side; he couldn't tell if they were armed.

He noticed Jojo sitting back against the wall nearest the car smoking a cigar, he was studying the handle of his cane; a big gaudy plastic-looking diamond with flecks of red.

Jojo stood up, twirling his cane and grinning. He swaggered over to the less heavily guarded side of the car and kicked something invisible to Walter.

"Bet you ain't ever gonna run away again, huh?" He knelt and disappeared from Walter's view. There was a resounding _slap_ and a low groan.

"You'd best not get blood on my new shoes bitch."

Unintelligible muttering.

"What was that?"

There was silence for a moment before a voice came back loud and clear:

"Kill me now or go fuck yourself."

Silence.

"You heard me?" a cough, "I ain't never goin' back to you. I'm done with-"

"I got ways of making you work."

"I'll kill myself. I ain't fuckin' goin' back."

There was silence once again as Jojo stood and regarded his victim with bird-like curiosity. His eyebrows slowly furrowed together into a deep frown and his lips pulled back into a sneer.

"You heard her boys," he turned and swaggered away; twirling his cane as he did, "bash her fuckin' skull in."

The three men on that side of the car lifted metal pipes high above their heads.

Walter took that as his cue to enter. He jolted to his feet and grabbed the base of the garage door, surprised to find that it took very little effort to lift it over his head.

The pipe-wielders had stopped mid-swing upon hearing the door grinding open. They stared at Walter, wide-eyed, expecting him to do what any other white man would have done upon stumbling onto a scene like this: run.

The noise of the door opening had caused Jojo to jump from his perch atop a wooden crate and draw his revolver. He had cocked the gun, but then let it rest at his side when he saw it was only Walter. His look of surprise lifted into a Cheshire grin.

"Well now, ain't this just the best damn gift a kid could ask for. How you doin' sir?"

"Fine. Was assaulted earlier by bat-wielding thug, but no damage. Not to me anyway."

Jojo's smile did not falter, "So how can I help you then, sir?"

"The girl. Let her go."

Jojo rubbed his clean-shaven chin in mock contemplation, "How about after she's dead, hmm?"

"No. Now."

Jojo chuckled, "Whoo-hoo-hoo, demanding. Sir, how rude. What happens if I say no?"

"This conversation ends with my hands around your neck." He cracked his knuckles; Jojo was really beginning to irritate him.

Jojo's grin seemed to widen as he looked to his side at his workforce. "Have you noticed how severely outnumbered you are?"

"Always enjoy a challenge."

"Alright, you asked for it," He turned to his workforce and swept his arm toward Walter in offering, "first one to get him to the floor gets an eight-thousand dollar bonus."

There was a loud battle-cry and suddenly all the men save for Jojo were charging toward him, weapons held high above their heads. Walter sighed inwardly; no training, no challenge.

He charged for the closest man, flooring him with a quick strong punch to the face, he caught the second in the chest with the heel of his shoe. He ducked quickly to avoid a blow from a pipe-wielder and turned to deliver a hard blow to the groin. The pipe-wielder doubled over and fell backward, and Walter grabbed his disowned weapon and charged for the rest of the men.

Jojo watched in surprise as half his workforce was brought down with seemingly no effort from the little white man. His eyes shifted from Gail to Walter once; contemplating whether he should bother taking her hostage. He decided not to.

All motion came to a standstill as a gunshot rang through the little room. Walter halted his attack on a bat-wielder to focus on the origin of the sound.

Jojo stood with his revolver held awkwardly in his hand; pointed upward but held loosely between the thumb and forefinger. He was smiling.

"You're a good fighter, white man. But let's see you dodge a bullet."

Walter's face betrayed no emotion as he began to approach Jojo, "Lets."

Jojo's smile faltered only for a second before he began shooting.

Three of the bullets fired hit Walter in the arm, and still he did not pause in his stride. Jojo fired relentlessly, quickly losing his cool as bullets struck the small white man and seemed to have no effect. Within seconds Walter was upon him, fingers crushing his windpipe as prophesized.

"Never was very good at dodging bullets. But then again, never really thought to try."

Jojo's face began to turn blue from lack of oxygen. Then purple. His legs kicked feebly as Walter lifted him, both hands fastened tightly to his throat, and slammed him against a wall. He held him there for a moment, examining him with the same bird-like curiosity that Jojo had used on Gail. Jojo's eyes began to bulge and in the back of Walter's mind Rorschach screamed at him to just snap his neck and be done. But he would not listen. He could not listen.

Jojo's kicking became less aggressive as he slowly lost consciousness, his head nodding off to the side, his vice-like grip on Walter's hands slacking, his eyelids drooping.

Walter suddenly became aware that he was losing a lot of blood; the hot, sticky liquid was running down his leg and pooling in an alarming amount at his feet. He forgot about Jojo completely, letting him drop to the ground in an unconscious heap as he made his way back to the car and where he believed Gail was.

There she lay; arms and legs overlapped like a dead animal, curly black hair matted with dry blood and dirt. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was steady; Walter knelt and reached for her. The sudden change in altitude seemed to throw his body out of whack and all of the sudden his surroundings became blurry.

Then everything went black.

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Read&Review!

WHEN U R&R IT MAKES ME WANT 2 WRITE MORE. (when you don't it makes me bored)

sorry its so short....i had ALOT of trouble with this scene...mostly cuz its a big transition point for the story & characters. this is all that came of three months of writers block...


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